Paper People
by Democratic Anarchy
Summary: Love never comes easily. But the hurdles that have to be overcome only make it stronger. From first meeting to present day, this is the progression of Brittany and Santana's relationship, set strictly in Brittany's perspective. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Snow Angels, Blankets, and First Hello's

**Paper People**

_**Chapter One: **__**Snow Angels, Blankets, and First Hellos**_

**Rating: M for future chapters.**

**A/N: Hey everyone! So, I've decided to pursue this idea that's been nagging at me for...well, ever. I intend to make this as detailed as possible, after all I'm going to try and cover the entire Brittana relationship. I hope everyone enjoys it and I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I'm forever un-beta'd. Also, here's my tumblr URL, if any of you want to contact me: sugarplumfairygirl**

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The first time you remember meeting new kids is in the third grade.

It is snowy, almost unbelievably so. That huge fern in the front of your yard sags a bit from the new pressure. You step carefully around it because you don't want it to fall on you.

You are just fine with playing by yourself, even though there are plenty of other children on the block. In the front yard, you make mini snowmen because you can't lift the heavy snow-packed balls once they get too big. You try to wrap your teeny arms around them and lift, so much so your already pink face flushes even more, but you give up soon thereafter.

Then you make a collection of snow angels. Meticulous as you are for an eight year-old, you make them one after another so that their out stretched wings just barely touch. To you they look like those beautiful paper people your older sister cuts out of paper while you watch in amazement. You were never good with scissors and paper and crafts, despite your family's aptitude for art. You don't like the paper cuts you sometimes get, so you just watch while others do it. Lucky for you, your fourteen year-old sister likes to humor you.

Two. Three. Four. More and more pile up as you connect them in your front yard. They have formed lines and curves now, making themselves fit onto the oddly shaped plot of land. But you don't care because looking down at them you think that maybe they are even more beautiful ones than the paper ones, and you swell with pride.

Even though your snow pants and thick, crinkly winter coat are beginning to get soaked through and you are starting to shiver a bit, you kneel down on the snow. Moving carefully so as not to hit your creations, you use your well-padded gloved fingers to make small halos for each of the angels, but nothing else. They all look the same now, like you simply folded the land in halves and used your body to cut them out.

And then, from across the street, you hear the obnoxiously loud crumpling of snow under two pairs of boots. You hope that it is just the elderly couple because they can't always see you, and you like that. As long as they aren't the Gustufsans, who would certainly walk over and talk to you like you are just a cute little baby. You don't like it when they talk to you like that.

But it turns out not to be either of the two. A girl, you can tell she is probably the same age as you, and a boy emerge out of the snowy white haze with large smiles plastered on their faces. You can't tell how old the boy is because you can never tell how old boys are. From those that you know, they all are short and high-pitched until they get really tall. But the only really tall ones you know are your father, who doesn't count, and your cousin, who is certainly not this boy.

They both have dark hair, which is only barely concealed by thin hats. You know then that the boy must be older than you because only older people don't like to wear lots of clothes when it's cold outside.

"Hi," you say quietly. You assume your word just gets swallowed up by the residual sound of snow blowing, because they don't say hello back.

They just look at you there, hunched over in the snow by your angels. They either don't know what they are or don't care. "Hey," the girl says. "We just moved in." She shifts herself in the snow, but never stops looking at you.

Had they? You hadn't noticed.

The dark-haired boy introduces himself. "Hey," he says like his sister.

"Do you want to play with us?" she asks. "What's your name?"

You tell it to them even though you don't really want to. You just want them to stand on the driveway, away from your angels. "I guess we can play," you say. "What do you want to do?"

"This is good snowball packing snow," the boy tells you. You can't remember having a snow ball fight. Your sister is too old and your parents don't like to be pelted with compact snow balls. "Let's have a snow ball fight."

You get up from the snow and stand up straight. Maybe this boy isn't older than you. He's awfully short. But you don't move fast enough because as soon as you know it, you feel something hard explode against your coat. Snow ricochets off of you and dusts your hair white. It doesn't really hurt; you are just taken aback. So, you kneel down and wad up a ball and pelt it at the dark-haired boy. You smirk as you throw it because you know you both will certainly be even now.

But he easily dodges your weak eight-year old throw and laughs at you. But the girl shoots him a glare and sends a snow ball hurling. It's her turn to laugh because the look on her brother's face is priceless; he wasn't expecting her to switch sides. His mouth is slightly agape and you wonder if maybe a snowball would fit in there. Except that then he gets mad. The kind of mad that happens out of embarrassment, because his sister just hit him in the face with a snowball. You can tell because he looks like he's going to have a fit and his face is all red, and you don't think it's from the cold (though you do find it silly that he isn't wearing warmer clothing. You think that maybe he read his calendar wrong, which sometimes you're guilty of, too.)

The girl is just smiling and she turns to you and looks so much sweeter than her pouty brother. She reaches up to her head to pull her hat down more, but it wasn't until then that you noticed how _pretty_ her hair is. It reminds you of a raven, the kind you've seen on TV sometimes. Like her brother, her face is slightly flushed, but you figure it's just from the cold. Even for an eight-year old, you can tell she's beautiful. "Are you a snow angel?" you ask because you're not sure if you've seen anything as pretty as her before.

She laughs, but not the mean kind of laughed she did at her brother. "No, but I'm Santana."

_Santana, _you think to yourself. Her name, like her face and hair, is very beautiful. "I'm Brittany," you say enthusiastically.

Santana, in her thin hat, smiles at you. Sometimes you don't like it when people smile at you because you can tell that they are just humoring you. You know what they really think, even if you're not a mind reader. The way Santana's smiling at you now, though, makes you feel really good, and you can't help but smile back. "I know," Santana finally replies.

"How? Are you a mind reader?" You scrunch your eyebrows in disbelief. "What's my mom's name?"

That gets you another sweet laugh, which is beginning to sound like music to your ears. You like making her laugh. "No, no," she says with a dismissive wave but still with a smile on her face. "You told it to me already." Santana breaks eye contact for what seems like forever and looks at the crumpled snow beneath her feet. "I like your name."

Your face flushes and you grin at her. "I like your name, too. It's really pretty and sweet. Like chocolate."

You never take your eyes off Santana, and even if you wanted to, you're not sure if you could. And even though you can see her face starting to flush like yours, you probably should have kept an eye on Santana's brother. At least you realize that when he finally breaks the spell you and Santana were under by shoving you onto the snow, and stomping towards tour snow angels. You let out a shriek at the surprise of falling to the ground, but your thick winter coat and snow pants protect you from any real pain. Santana's eyes whip up from the ground at your noise and she tries to help you up, but by the time she reaches you, you're already back on your feet. You don't even wipe off the snow on your body before you try to reach Santana's brother. He's so dangerously close to your snow angels now and even though you're a fast runner, the sheer amount of winter gear makes you clumsy, and you accidentally fall to the ground. "Please don't break them, please!" you beg in between small sobs. You didn't even realize that you had started crying.

"Antonio!" Santana scolds viciously, her hand reaching out to grab her brother's arm. But he shakes her off and trots all over your snow people. All over their wings and all over the halos that you had labored to make so perfect and beautiful. And all you know is that they're ruined and your tears are now streaming down your face in the uncontrollable way that kids cry. Through your cloudy, teary vision, you can see that he stomped on your mini snowmen, too. That makes you cry harder. "You little..._puta_," Santana spats at her brother with the most venom you've ever heard anyone use. You wonder if maybe she's a snake. Obviously Antonio, or whatever his name is (you don't really care), senses this too, because he stops immediately and looks at her. "I'll beat you up with your own freaking fist if you don't stop that and go home right now."

He simply stares at her because he's as taken aback as you are, then he frowns and trudges reluctantly off your front yard. Santana stays planted in her place before letting out a big huff and walking over to you. Her face, which you had just seen contorted up in anger a moment before isn't like that now that she's looking at you. Which you're glad because you don't like it when people are mad at you and already you can tell that Santana is really good at getting mad. It's kind of scary, actually. "Are you okay?" she asks you softly. She kneels down next to you and wipes some of the snow off your coat.

You nod and wipe your tears on your sleeve before letting out a sad sigh. "He broke my snow angels." There's no hope of fixing them because even from where you are, all you can see is footprints and tossed up snow where their wings used to be. Even the halos are messed up.

"They were really pretty, Brittany," you hear Santana mention softly as she finishes getting the snow off your coat.

"They were beautiful."

Santana goes quiet for a minute and you're not looking at her because you're still wiping the tears off your face, but you think that maybe she's thinking about something. Finally she offers, "We could remake them. I could help."

Your face lights up at the prospect, but you have your doubts. You're not sure how they could remade perfectly, but since Santana is so beautiful, you realize that's possible. "Okay, let's go." You get up and dust off the snow on your pants and grab Santana's hand. "But you have to do the body first and then the halo thingy."

"Got it. Body first, then the halo."

Her mitten-donned hand squeezes around yours and you proceed forward to where the first angel was. Ushering her to lay down on the space next to you, you carefully outstretch your arms and legs in a sweeping motion to create the first snow angel. She follows your motion but it's not the same because it seems to you like maybe she's never done this before. The thought makes you inexplicably sad.

However, seeing her there next you, with her eyes closed and her limbs outstretched, you don't really mind if your angel comes out perfect or not. You're not exactly sure, but you think that Santana might be an angel, more perfect than the snow ones or even the pristine paper people your sister makes for you.

You take your time, and after a while, the long line of snow angels decorate your front yard again. It's not perfect, you can still see some footprints where Santana's brother stomped, but it's still beautiful to you. Besides, this time you got to do it with Santana, which was way more fun than doing it alone. You instruct her on how to make the halos, not too big and not too small, but just right. Sometimes you think you can feel Santana throwing small glances and smiles at you. That makes you feel slightly jittery.

Eventually, when everything is done and you are completely frozen even with your tough winter gear, you ask if Santana wants to come inside and play with you. She gives an excited "Yeah" before carefully tip-toeing around your angels and following you inside. Her coat, like yours, is soaked through with snow that has now melted and you instantly feel bad for not coming inside sooner.

After both of you have shed your soaked winter clothing, you make your way into the living room, where your mom is lounging on the sofa watching the news. Your fingers are almost automatically entwined with Santana's, which thankfully she doesn't seem to mind. "Mom, can Santana and I play? She just moved in," you inquire hopefully.

She smiles at you and Santana, who you're not looking at, but from the tightness of her hand around yours, you can tell she's nervous. "Of course you can, honey. It's nice to meet you, Santana. Your family will have to come over for dinner sometime."

Santana nods awkwardly and shifts next you. "Maybe. I'll ask." She nudges you.

Blue eyes meet dark brown and you know that it's time to go. Even though you're not really sure why Santana seems so nervous around your mom. Maybe she just doesn't like talking to adults. You turn away, with Santana in tow, and head up the stairs to the second floor where your decorated room awaits. Hopefully Santana likes it because you spent a lot of time picking out the right stuffed animals to line your bed. And when she does end up telling you that she likes your room, even your plush unicorn, you couldn't be happier.

"Are you cold?" Seeing as you can feel the goosebumps lining her arms and her small shiver, you already know the answer.

"No," Santana replies with a chatter.

Grabbing your big pink comforter from your bed, you just give her a knowing look. Reluctantly, she accepts it and wraps it around herself, but with enough room to spare. You're cold, still, so you decide to wrap yourself with it's edges. Inside the blanket, your hand finds hers again and you give her a detailed tour of your room, from the name of each of your stuffed animals and Barbies to the meaning behind each of your drawing. She never interrupts you or calls them silly. In fact, most of the time she's just got a smile on and always seems to be listening to what you're saying. For the rest of the day, you spend time talking about nothing and everything.

You realize that meeting new kids isn't so bad, after all.

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**Hey, you just read the first chapter and that's crazy. I hope you liked it, so review, maybe?**


	2. Practicing

**Paper People**

**_Chapter Two:_**_**Practicing **_

**Rated M for future chapters.**

**A/N: Hey guys! So, I'd just like to say that I'm trying to make this as canon as possible, except that on the show, Brittana supposedly meets in high school. But I just love the idea of mini!Brittana, so that's why I'm being AU for these couple chapters. Enjoy!**

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By the time winter break ends, you are closer with Santana than you've ever been with anyone in your life. She's your best friend - you both decided this one snowy morning after playing with your Polly Pocket dolls - and you wouldn't have it any other way. Most of the time, you can't stop staring at her, but you chalk it up to the fact that she's the only person in the world who makes you feel so good about yourself. She even got her brother to personally apologize for wrecking your snow angels by writing a semi-heartfelt letter and some brownies. You have a sleepover with Santana afterwards and you spend the night eating them and laughing.

And when school starts back up, you're more thankful than ever to have Santana on your side. Turns out she's that scary kind of mean to most people, even the lunch lady when she tried to serve Santana a spoonful of sketchy casserole. While sometimes kids used to make snarky comments towards you, that doesn't happen now. Santana just yells at them then links arms with you in class. She tells you they're assholes. You know that's a really bad word - you're only a third grader, after all - but it doesn't matter, she makes you feel better. And your confidence level blossoms because of it.

In fourth grade, you start taking dance classes. After having seen enough dance shows to know that it looks fun and with a word of encouragement from Santana, you finally ask your mother to enroll you. It becomes clear after just two lessons that you're good. _Really_ good. Better than even Rachel Berry, who had been apparently doing it since the age of three. She scoffs at you a lot, but you can tell she's jealous.

When you dance, you get this feeling in your body like you can conquer anything. The way music and rhythm seem to flow through your muscles feels as easy as breathing. You don't have to worry about kids making fun of you or school. All you think about is the music and how everything sort of fades away and puts your mind at ease. The only thing other thing that makes you feel that good is spending time with Santana.

You dance your way through elementary school with Santana, who's got a reputation of her own. She didn't seem nervous at all starting at a new school in a new town; even as a kid, she's the HBIC no matter where she goes. The other kids just fall into line behind her and her quick tongue. Being her best friend, they inevitably fall behind you, too. Though you don't abuse your status like Santana does (i.e. getting lunch money), you love the feeling of being in control.

It helps when you finally reach middle school, where there are a ton of other people and you and Santana don't share the exact same schedule. No one messes with you, though, because they know the consequences. Santana takes over junior high just as easily as she did in elementary school, with her words and a glare.

Except now that you're in middle school, things are different. It seems like everyone has grown up so fast and you're left behind. Drama is all the rage. When you're asked out on you're first date ever, Santana tells you to refuse because the boy is a dweeb. Looking back, you can't even remember his name.

But it's not just drama that has started up. Your body is changing, you can feel it. Dance has made you lean and toned. You have a massive growth spurt and soon enough, you're taller than all your classmates, including Santana. You get breasts, too, and you notice the same thing happening to Santana. Her body, though she doesn't dance, is firm. She grows like you do, in all the same places. Though you notice her breasts are bigger than yours. Sometimes you catch yourself staring at her and you're not exactly sure why. All you know is she's beautiful, but not in that wholly innocent way anymore. Sometimes you catch her staring at you, too. It always makes you blush.

The summer before eighth grade rolls around and you're itching for something. A lot of your other friends have boyfriends and even Santana had one for a month. She told you it was silly and that you shouldn't waste your time. You weren't exactly pleased that Santana was dating someone, anyway. Still, you figure that it's going to happen to you soon. You know you're pretty; you don't need anyone to tell you.

"Why can't we be girlfriends?" you ask Santana during a sleepover one day in mid-August. "It would be fun." You don't think Santana is weird like some of the guys at school and she's very, _very_ pretty. Besides, she's your best friend. She knows everything about you - from your fear of the dark to your love of Kim Possible.

Santana looks up from her magazine and eyes you. "Because we're both girls," she replies like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"I just don't see why that matters."

"Well, it does," she scoffs at you. You're not sure why she's mad but you know well enough when to leave a subject alone. You shrug and put the finishing touches on your blue finger nail polish.

But she puts down her magazine, you hear the crumpling of the printed papers, then the bed shifting as she sits beside you. You put the small bottle of top coat on your nightstand and you move to sit behind Santana. Her hair is dark and silky smooth and most times you're being selfish when you comb your fingers through her hair, like you start doing now, just because it feels good on your fingers. She turns on the radio and you gossip about Lindsay Lohan. "Did you know Lord Tubbington was in rehab with her once?" You adopted Lord Tubbington from the local shelter as your birthday present. Santana never liked him because he was always grumpy towards her and he stole her food once.

Santana laughs and shakes her head. "No wonder he's got a shitty attitude."

When you're finished with her hair, you snake your arms around her from behind and hug her softly. You're both wearing tank tops to try to quell the heat and all you can feel is her skin against yours and it feels so much better than cuddling with any of your stuffed animals. She sighs and moves into you. When you're tired enough, you lie down on the bed and spoon her. It's not your first time doing this, you can't remember when it started, but you try to do it on every sleepover. There's just something you love about falling asleep while holding Santana. Besides, her body fits so perfectly against yours that you think you might be made for each other.

Except this time, with your nightstand lamp and the radio turned off, you don't fall asleep. From Santana's breathing, you know she's awake, too. "Britt, have you ever kissed anyone?" she asks out of the blue. Usually you don't talk when you cuddle.

Her words echo in the overbearing summer air before you respond with a meek, "No. I would have told you."

Santana shifts in your arms so that you're facing her in the dark. "Well, you should practice. For the boys. You wouldn't want to be bad."

"I guess. But who am I gunna practice with?"

You can see her brown eyes glimmering in the small rays of moonlight that pass through your blinds. Normally, you would have your night light on, but when you cuddle with Santana, you're not afraid of the dark. Besides, cuddling is way more fun than a night light, anyway.

"I'll practice with you," she states softly.

You don't breathe for a moment. Is she proposing what you think she's proposing, or are you in some embarrassing dream? Did you accidentally drink too much cough syrup again? It doesn't matter, though, because the idea of kissing Santana makes your heart beat so fast that you don't care if it's real life or not.

And when you inch closer so that your lips connect with hers lightly, you realize that you must be dreaming because you never knew that kissing would feel so good. At least you didn't think so when you saw it in the movies and on the television. Her lips move against yours, too, and even though you don't know what you're doing, you think that your lips must be puzzle pieces. Hers fit perfectly against yours and when you pull away you realize her lips taste like cinnamon chapstick. You giggle. "You taste really good, San."

She lets out a sort of half-lidded "mhm" before closing the gap between you again. When you push yourself closer to her, it all feels so good that you think that your heart is going to explode.

You spend that summer sleepover kissing each other lightly and giggling. Both of you fall asleep eventually, but when you wake up, you kiss her again and again and again and you never stop getting tingles.

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**Hope you all enjoyed it! **


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